


transcendence

by ShitabuKenjirou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, M/M, Major Illness, Memories/Flashbacks, Necromancy, Non-Chronological, Past Character Death, Spirits, it truly is a happy ending i promise you, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24651322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitabuKenjirou/pseuds/ShitabuKenjirou
Summary: Do not stand at my grave and weepI am not there. I do not sleep.I am a thousand winds that blow.I am the diamond glints on snow.I am the sunlight on ripened grain.I am the gentle autumn rain.When you awaken in the morning's hushI am the swift uplifting rushOf quiet birds in circled flight.I am the soft stars that shine at night.Do not stand at my grave and cry;I am not there. I did not die.- Mary Elizabeth Frye
Relationships: Shirabu Kenjirou/Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 12
Kudos: 24





	transcendence

**Author's Note:**

> happy yahashira day!! couldn't let this day go past without throwing some new sappy unedited garbage into the void. i gotta uphold my reputation and all that, ya know the drill. there's some bits i'm not suuuuper happy with but whatever, it doesn't need to be perfect to be worth posting. also it's 11 pm and i'm tired and i really want to throw this out here now so THERE
> 
> i had such a blast writing this so i really really hope you, yes YOU, enjoy it as well <3
> 
> ((oh also! in case it's unclear, the part of the piece that's all italics is supposed to be a memory of sorts, just so you guys won't get confused!))

There was no sound other than Shigeru’s dragging footsteps as he moved through the darkness, iron lantern in hand, the soft flickering of the candle within it casting eerie, moving shadows on the trees around him. The night was still young, but with every day the sun dipped behind the horizon sooner, slowly dragging the world around him from late autumn into early winter. Frigid air nipped at his nose, and with his free hand, Shigeru adjusted the hood of his cloak to better preserve his body heat. 

Shigeru’s stomach was an intricate knot of concern, his mind constantly caught up in the furious maelstrom of his thoughts. His bottom lip was nearly bitten raw, as were his fingernails, and his free hand gripped the strap of his leather rucksack so tightly it was digging into the skin of his palm.

Shigeru feared nothing about the night. He had seen more terrible things than the dark forest could ever contain. No, he feared the ritual he was about to undertake -- worried if he could bring it to completion, and worried about the outcome if he did.

Or if he didn’t.

He spent weeks preparing, gathering ingredients, memorizing recipes and collecting incantations from books and pieces of parchment believed to be older than civilization itself. He was by no means a powerful necromancer -- Kenjirou had often called him a mediocre one -- but it was not just a legend that those who meddled with the darkest kinds of magic were brought mercilessly to their ends, driven to madness, or worse. 

Shigeru, for one, preferred to err on the side of caution on this one. Especially considering the things he’d witnessed in his relatively short lifetime.

Dark and light magic were two sides of the same coin, and existed in a delicate balance. They worked best when used alongside each other, both their similarities and differences enhancing the other. It’s why Kenjirou called in his help with patrons who were in a particularly bad state -- working in tandem with Shigeru strengthened his healing hands, allowing him to work miracles most regular healers couldn’t. 

White magic was generally reliable: it was consistent and less draining to use. Dark magic, on the other hand, while more powerful and versatile, was a lot more unstable. If handled incorrectly or used too much, it could lead to devastating consequences. 

Shigeru knew better than to dig too deeply in the wells of dark magic. He’d learned that the hard way, through suffering the consequences of his own mistakes and watching those of others. Now he only used as much as he knew he could handle, only casted spells he knew were relatively safe. By using it sparingly, he was able to help people the way Kenjirou could, almost as if he was turning darkness into light. 

But dark magic had a way of tugging at your heart, a certain greed and curiosity that was hard to ignore at times. The unprepared fell for that pull, and either gave or asked for too much. There were more than enough stories about the ways those unlucky ones found their demise.

With the life Shigeru had built for himself, he’d had no reason to give in to that pull.

Until now.

~~~

_ At first glance, the two-storey wooden house that held Kenjirou’s apothecary was nothing out of the ordinary. The ground floor was dedicated to Kenjirou’s various medical supplies and treatments, while he himself resided on the first floor. The storefront seemed friendly and welcoming, with big shuttered windows letting in the sunlight, and rows and rows of glass bottles and tin pots lining the shelves attached to the walls. Shigeru had definitely found it charming when he first visited -- though the atmospheric interior was but a small reason for why he kept returning.  _

_ But hidden behind a bookshelf filled to the brim with books and plants, a door led to a separate room with no windows except for a big skylight. Wooden drawers lining the walls hid bandages and rubbing alcohol and intricate metal tools one couldn’t find at a regular blacksmith. In the middle of a room stood a table big enough for a person to lie upon, covered by a white cloth Kenjirou rigorously cleaned after every visitor. This was the room one was led to when their illness or wound was too big for a small bandage or ointment to cure.  _

_ When Shigeru once came down with a nasty, deep cut in his lower arm, seconds away from infection, Kenjirou had brought him into that very room without a word. He’d ordered Shigeru to sit on the table while he flew around the room, gathering tools and supplies. Pressing a cloth he’d snatched from home against his cut to staunch the bleeding, Shigeru looked around, and the more he did so, the more he discovered things he figured had nothing to do with run-off-the-mill healing.  _

_ Stacked in a corner were books that looked significantly older and worse for wear than those Kenjirou had on display in the shopfront. On a table next to the door stood a collection of glass vials with ingredients that had to have come from farther than the local forest. A handful of striking purple butterflies were kept in an iron-and-glass terrarium, fluttering frantically as Kenjirou rushed past them. There were tools and bottles and boxes and  _ things  _ that even he, a necromancer with several years of magic practice under his belt, didn’t recognize. _

_ Before Shigeru could draw any conclusions, Kenjirou had been back at his side, gripping his lower arm tightly enough to hold him still and ordering him to lift the now blood-stained piece of cloth. After a moment of silent investigation, Kenjirou reached for a tiny wooden cup of what looked like ink but smelled like something herbal and vaguely otherworldly. Dipping his pinky finger in it, he drew a symbol on Shigeru’s skin next to the wound.  _

_ “This might itch a little,” he’d announced, with a voice that was both focused and detached. Kenjirou gently brushed his fingertips along the cut, and then the symbol on his skin began to glow bright white. In front of Shigeru’s very eyes, his skin knitted itself back together in just a matter of minutes, until a sliver of new, pink skin was all that was left of his wound.  _

_ Needless to say, Shigeru had found reasons to come back to that shop many times after that. _

_ And as he did so, he learned more about Kenjirou, his skills and his methods, his way with his patrons, and the medical challenges every season offered. It was a particularly icy winter when Shigeru learned he could be of use to Kenjirou. One evening, a man who worked down in the mines in the nearby mountains had visited, several of his fingers and toes tinged blue and black with frostbite. Kenjirou’s brows knitted together in a way that suggested he had only bad news to tell when Shigeru had an idea.  _

_ It had taken about an hour and a half for Shigeru to run home and back to grab the things he needed and run back to help Kenjirou clean out a slightly cramped cellar he’d been using for storage. Once everything was prepared, Kenjirou helped the man downstairs with a skeptical look and guided him to a small table they’d set up. Shigeru’s chest warmed with glee when Kenjirou’s eyebrows shot upwards, in reaction to Shigeru drawing out a dark red liquid and applying symbols similar to the ones he’d used on the miner’s dying skin.  _

_ And he couldn’t help but smile at Kenjirou’s surprise and amazement when the symbols sunk into the man’s skin like ink dissolving in water, and, bit by bit, his fingers and toes regained their usual pink colour -- even as Shigeru’s own skin paled with the effort.  _

_ The next morning, when Shigeru found his way back to Kenjirou’s shop, Kenjirou had offered him the cellar to use for his practices in exchange for his services when needed.  _

_ A few months later, Kenjirou had welcomed him into his own home as well.  _

_ After wandering the world in search for a purpose, Shigeru felt that with Kenjirou, he had finally found his place. The memories that had haunted him turned from wounds to scabs to scars as the days went by. Routine started to feel comforting rather than suffocating, with him trudging through the forest surrounding their town as early as dawn, scouring the foliage for specific weeds and herbs Kenjirou needed for ointments. He grounded up the plants or dried them according to the recipes Kenjirou read to him, sitting at a table on the ground floor next to a window, sunlight bathing him in gold.  _

_ Shigeru found himself in being Kenjirou’s helping hand, finding ways to turn his affinity with dark magic into something good. And, eventually, he found himself in Kenjirou, too.  _

_ There was an entirely new kind of magic in waking up next to him every morning; in casting little spells just to make him laugh; in working alongside him silently as he tended to a patient, needing no words to communicate what he needed. Shigeru fell in love with this effortless magic -- it was warm like the fire in the hearth they sat in front of every evening, reading or telling stories; safe like the reassuring squeeze of Kenjirou’s hand after he woke up from a nightmare.  _

_ But Shigeru should’ve known that even the most benign kinds of magic ultimately demanded a price.  _

_ While winter was usually the toughest season, summer had its own unique medical challenges. Kenjirou's ointments for sunburns flew off the shelves, and Shigeru spent several hours a day gathering herbs to dry, so people could burn them to keep away multiple types of insects. Almost on the daily Kenjirou dealt with patients suffering from dehydration or overheating, sometimes even heatstroke, and as the dry season dragged on, some essential ingredients became harder and harder to find. Once late summer rolled around, Kenjirou had to do with less effective - - sometimes no - - alternatives to treat his patients with.  _

_ It was a sunny morning, with the temperatures rising quickly, when the door to the apothecary burst open and a man stumbled in, followed by a concerned looking woman.  _

_ Kenjirou dropped the book he was studying and hurried towards the man. Shigeru, having stopped grinding herbs in a stone bowl as soon as the door had opened, watched as Kenjirou helped the man to the nearest chair, the woman trailing them helplessly. After a moment, Shigeru shook off the initial shock, left his spot behind the counter and joined the group.  _

_ Kenjirou wasn't the kind of person to ask useless questions. He expected his patrons to tell him whatever they needed him to know, only asking for elaboration when the picture in his mind was missing a piece. With gentle fingers he assessed the man, feeling his forehead, checking his pulse.  _

_ "When did this start?" he said, his eyes flickering back and forth between the man and his companion. _

_ "He was moving some cargo inside our store when I noticed how warm he was," the woman answered him. "I assumed he was overheated, but then he started coughing--" _

_ As if to illustrate her point, the sick man fell into a coughing fit, cutting off the woman's sentence. Kenjirou's brows furrowed.  _

_ "Something doesn't add up," Kenjirou said, voicing Shigeru's thoughts. "I can treat his symptoms, but I'm not sure if that'll work if I don't know the cause." _

_ "Maybe it's the seasonal flu?" Shigeru offered, knowing almost certainly that that suggestion missed the mark by a long shot. _

_ Kenjirou shook his head. "Too early. And the symptoms don't show so suddenly." He turned to the couple. "He was fine yesterday?"  _

_ The woman nodded. "As far as I know."  _

_ Kenjirou glanced out the window, fingers fidgeting with the rim of his shirt, the way he often did when he was deep in thought.  _

_ "I'll prepare the treatment room," Shigeru announced to no one in particular. _

_ Kenjirou ended up using a combination of magic and herbal medicine to try and bring the fever down, and gave the man an elixir made mostly out of honey to combat the coughing. After giving them a set of instructions and signs to watch out for that could mean things were getting worse, he bid the couple goodbye, a whirlwind of questions in his eyes, and went back to his tasks. _

_ That evening, Kenjirou dove into his collection of books and papers, searching page after page for clues that could point to the cause of the man’s strange condition. He was still reading when Shigeru went to sleep, and the next morning Shigeru found him bent over his desk, his cheek pressed into the pages.  _

_ Shigeru let him sleep. He’d been around for long enough now that he could manage the pharmacy for a while. It was usually quiet in the mornings, anyway. _

_ Three days later, the woman who’d accompanied the sick man returned and, with tears in her eyes, told Kenjirou that the man -- who turned out to be her husband -- had died.  _

_ Shigeru nearly dropped a jar he was shelving, catching it just before it could shatter on the stone floor. Kenjirou just stared at the woman, speechless. Then he whipped around, grabbed the leather bag he used when he visited patients at home, and demanded, “show me.” _

_ He left before Shigeru could offer to accompany him, and stayed out until late afternoon. Once he returned, he went right back to his research, not even sparing Shigeru a greeting. In the evening, Shigeru sat him down before the hearth, which held their simple meal of boiled rice and vegetables.  _

_ “Talk to me,” he said, the words almost a plea. “Tell me what’s going on in your mind, or I swear to heaven and hell, I will lock you in the cellar.” _

_ Kenjirou did not laugh at his exaggeration.  _

_ “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he simply began. “And it can’t be a coincidence that he died so soon. To have a disease like this turn up that’s not only unknown, but deadly…”  _

_ They locked eyes. Shigeru could sense the worry, and underneath it all, the fear and the weariness, in Kenjirou’s gaze.  _

_ “This could turn out to be disastrous.”  _

_ "What did you see?" Yahaba asked gently. His fingers found Kenjirou's hands and squeezed them tightly.  _

_ "I've seen many bodies in my lifetime," Kenjirou murmured, looking down on their joined hands, "but this was… unsettling. There was a bluish rash covering his skin at several places, littered with scabs and blood traces, as if it had itched so badly he'd scratched them bloody. And from his mouth…"  _

_ Kenjirou shuddered despite the lingering heat. "It looked like he'd been coughing up blood, but… it was black." _

_ Shigeru had witnessed Kenjirou deal with death before. It was part of the job, after all. Even with magic, not every person could be saved.  _

_ But this was the first time Kenjirou was completely and utterly shaken. It was a kind of fear that could only have come from the knowledge that this unknown blight would take many more lives, and that the chances were that he, as a healer, might very well be powerless to stop it.  _

_ It was despair.  _

_ "And you're sure there's nothing in that library of yours that could help us?"  _

_ Kenjirou nodded. "I've read every single sheet of paper so many times I can almost remember the contents word for word. No record of anything that even remotely resembles this." _

_ Then he looked up, and found Shigeru's gaze. "Do you think it could be demonic from origin?" _

_ "I don't think so. Dark beings don't cause harm like this when they don't have a reason to. They're neutral by default, just like light beings are." _

_ "Unless someone gave them a reason," Kenjirou said, his voice low, as if he was afraid of accidentally speaking it into existence. "And it found a way to spread." _

_ "We can't know just from witnessing one victim," Shigeru said. "Though I wish you would at least have taken me with you to look at the poor man's remains." _

_ Kenjirou shot him an apologetic look. Shigeru squeezed his hands again in return. He couldn't have known this wasn't an ordinary case.  _

_ "Either way," Shigeru continued. "This might be a far,  _ far _ greater problem than just one healer and one necromancer can handle." _

_ When, in the following weeks, more and more patients turned up with similar symptoms, Shigeru realized the horrifying truth of what he'd said.  _

_ Kenjirou did his best to treat whomever he could - - used strong runes to combat the fever that seemed to set off the string of more unsettling symptoms, monitoring every single patient closely to try and find out how the disease progressed over time. At some point, Kenjirou had sent Shigeru out into town to inform people about this strange blight, and offer anyone who believed him to apply a symbol of health and protection on their skin in the hopes that it would ward it off. A warehouse across the street had been emptied out to serve as a makeshift infirmary, where usually at least a handful of ill people resided, hoping to be cured. _

_ After a few weeks, the amount of people who had died was around equal to the people who had recovered, though no one had a clue what exactly made people fall in either category. With no cause and no cure, Kenjirou spent most of his time treating symptoms, putting out metaphorical fires in the patients’ bodies, so that at least they wouldn’t collapse trying to fight the disease. Sometimes it was enough -- the fever cleared, the coughing stopped, the rashes disappeared, leaving peculiar bluish scars in their wake. The patients were exhausted, but alive, and the gratitude in their eyes was a force no words could express. _

_ It gave Shigeru hope. Hope that at some point this would be over, and that a big chunk of people affected by this blight would walk away from it unscathed.  _

_ Shigeru found his own way to help patients who were already too far gone, by holding their hands and speaking to them softly as he numbed their senses and led them gently into death. Every time he looked up after he'd brushed shut the victim's lifeless eyes, he found Kenjirou looking at him, his eyes holding equal amounts of pain and fondness.  _

_ Shigeru was sure his eyes mirrored that look as he watched Kenjirou work for hours and hours, casting spells left and right, digging deeper into his magic reserves. Every morning he drew countless runes all over his skin -- for protection, for strength, for energy, for blessings, some Shigeru didn’t recognize -- to help him face another exhausting day; sometimes he even let Shigeru apply them, with his own mixtures, channeling dark magic instead of light, hoping that extra bit of power would make him last longer. And every afternoon Shigeru watched those runes evaporate one by one as he used spell after spell, the magic sucking the colour out of his skin -- even his bright amber eyes seemed to dim as time went on.  _

_ There were days where Kenjirou had to sit out the afternoon, skin sickly pale, hands shaking. But even then he stayed with the patients, keeping them company, spending time mixing herbal elixirs and ointments instead. Even in dark times, the forces of nature itself shouldn’t be underestimated. _

_ It sickened Shigeru to his stomach to see Kenjirou like this: weakened day by day, with smudges under his eyes no amount of sleep could cover up, continuing his work despite magic-induced nosebleeds getting more and more common. And yet, he couldn't tell him to let his patients be, to allow himself to recover. It was Kenjirou's healer's heart that put his patrons' wellbeing over his own, and watching them suffer when he could try to stop it would hurt him more than exhaustion ever could. It was something Shigeru admired him for, but now… he ached to shake him back and forth, begging him to be selfish just this once. He actually would have if Kenjirou didn’t look so unbearably fragile. _

_ And then Kenjirou collapsed.  _

_ One moment he was fetching a new jug of purified water; the next his legs buckled and he crashed into the cobblestone floor, the jug he was carrying shattering loudly upon the stones, forcing all other sounds into silence. _

_ Shigeru was next to him within seconds, pulling his head into his lap, calling his name until the tears in his throat forced him to stop. He felt the gazes of the startled patients surrounding him as he brushed back Kenjirou’s hair, patted his cheek-- _

_ Which was burning hot.  _

_ Time rushed by like a furious river after that.  _

_ The emergency infirmary stayed open, though there was no healer to help people anymore. Kenjirou’s apothecary was closed for business as Shigeru took care of him in their living quarters. He’d hoped his collapse was caused by magical exhaustion, an inevitable consequence of depleting magic resources. But that hope vanished quickly when Kenjirou fell into coughing fits that left him gasping for breath, when the blue rashes appeared on his skin and spread day by day. _

_ It was terrifying how quickly Kenjirou’s health fell into decline. He was bedbound, only getting up to relieve himself, even though he couldn’t even stay upright without Shigeru’s help. Pillows supported his back as he leaned against the headboard of their bed, keeping him upright enough to read through his beloved books or chat with Shigeru as though he was just enjoying a day off. Shigeru poured his all into tending to his needs, lowering his fever and numbing his pain and feeding him despite his nonexistent appetite, all in an attempt to ignore the signs that he most likely wasn’t going to make it. _

_ Because he  _ was _. He  _ had  _ to. There wasn’t another way.  _

_ It was a hot summer evening, a thunderstorm finally feeding the dry, desperate earth, when Kenjirou coughed up black blood.  _

_ He wiped the remains off it from his lips with shaking fingers, studying it with his unshakeable curiosity. “That’s not a good sign,” he forced out, his voice low and hoarse. _

_ A wave of rage and pain rushed through Shigeru so forcefully he broke the ceramic bowl he’d been holding, mushed up herbs and sharp shards falling to the floor.  _

_ “How can you joke around like that?” he burst out. “How can you act so nonchalantly when both of us know you’ll die any moment now? Is this funny to you? Because to me it definitely isn’t!” _

_ If Kenjirou was surprised by Shigeru’s outburst, he didn’t show it. His tired eyes focused on Shigeru as he said, “because you are only barely keeping it together. It’s of no use for either of us to succumb to despair.” _

_ “I knew you weren’t capable of experiencing emotions,” Shigeru snapped. Only then did he realize he was crying.  _

_ “Come here,” Kenjirou said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He coughed again, his entire body convulsing with the force of it. Droplets of black blood buried themselves into the soft yellow bedspread.  _

_ Shigeru all but fell on his knees beside the bed, taking Kenjirou’s hand in both of his as he sobbed. His chest was a never-ending chasm, and he was hurtling through the darkness, bracing himself for the impact of the fall. _

_ He felt Kenjirou’s other hand gently brush through his greasy hair, stroke his sweaty cheek, his skin uncomfortably warm. A new wave of rage washed over him -- it was ridiculous, how Kenjirou was the one comforting him, when he was the one standing with one foot in the doorway to the shadow realm. _

_ “It’s okay, Shigeru, it’s okay,” he heard Kenjirou force out between labored breaths. “You know I don’t fear death… I never have.” _

_ “I know,” Shigeru choked out.” _

_ “And you know better than anyone… that what is waiting for me is calm and peaceful.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ For a minute the only sounds were their broken breaths, accompanied by the thunder crashing through the sky and the rain hammering against the windows.  _

_ Kenjirou’s hand squeezed Shigeru’s, and Shigeru looked up. Kenjirou’s eyes were focused on Shigeru’s face, as though he was doing his best to memorize the colour of Shigeru’s eyes, the dimples that appeared only when he smiled, the curve of his nose and the arch of his brow. Shigeru found himself doing the same thing, traveling over Kenjirou’s cheeks, covered by freckles and shining with sweat; his straight caramel hair, ruffled by days of being bedbound; his amber eyes, now darkened by exhaustion, but burning just as brightly as the day they met. _

_ “I love you,” Kenjirou whispered, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a hesitant smile. And then, finally, tears started rimming his eyes.  _

_ “I love you more,” Shigeru responded, his voice cracking. “Don’t go. Please. Please.” _

_ Kenjirou chuckled, then descended into another coughing fit, black blood escaping his lips before his free hand could cover it. Shigeru felt the bed frame shake with his movements. When he fell silent again, Kenjirou seemed to have even more difficulty breathing.  _

_ Shigeru found himself holding his breath. He did not dare move his gaze away.  _

_ Kenjirou’s grip on Shigeru’s hands weakened. _

_ “Don’t do anything… I wouldn’t do,” he rasped. There was a ghost of a smile on his face -- ever the persistent healer, comforting those he helped even in the direst of times.  _

_ Even the rain seemed to quiet when the light in Kenjirou’s eyes faded. Shigeru was sure his last breath was audible all over the world, echoing through the room until nothing was left. _

~~~

Shigeru would say reliving that memory reopened the wound, but he had never even attempted to close it in the first place. There had been an initial fit of rage and despair, after Shigeru brushed Kenjirou’s eyes closed and bade his soul a safe journey to the land of the light: he’d descended to Kenjirou’s apothecary -- now just another useless space -- and flung all the glass jars with herbs and powders at the walls, until the floor was covered in dirty shards. He’d screamed and cried and pulled at his hair until his voice was hoarse, and then he’d curled up in a ball underneath the counter, because there was no way he could go back upstairs and face the source of his grief.

But after that he’d just buried it, pushed it down and down until he barely noticed it as he found a new purpose. What kind of necromancer was he if he couldn’t do the one thing the legends said he could do? So he spent day and night pouring over literature he’d sworn he would never revisit. He spent several weeks exploring the dark underbelly of society, gathering resources no normal shop would sell. And then all he could do was wait.

Wait until the day the veil between words was thinnest, when his powers would be at their peak. And even then, it would take a miracle to get away with it. 

Shigeru snorted. Finally Kenjirou wouldn’t be the only one pulling off miracles.

The full moon started to rise above the treeline, illuminating Shigeru’s path so brightly he barely needed his lantern anymore. He opened the latch and blew out the candle -- he wasn’t one to waste resources. 

After another ten minutes of trekking, the high iron gates of the cemetery came into view.  Shigeru pushed open the gates, brushing the flakes of rust from his hand as he entered. As he’d expected, the grassy clearing, dotted with gravestones and wooden signs, was deserted. At this particular time of year, it would be stranger if someone else  _ were _ out here with him.

Despite it having been well over two months since the burial, Shigeru didn’t need to think to find his way to the grave he was looking for. The patch of dirt that covered the casket was well grassed over now -- save for the terracotta pots housing shriveled up plants lining the invisible rectangle, one had no way to tell someone had been buried here. 

Shigeru knelt before the grass and let his rucksack slip from his shoulders. He grabbed the shovel he’d strapped to it and attempted to remember the order of the ritual he’d have to perform, his teeth worrying his raw bottom lip. 

Time slowed around him as he prepared -- digging up the casket, but not opening it yet to prevent overexposure to outside forces; drawing circles and runes around the grave, a mixture of water and white chalk that seemed to light up eerily in the moonlight; arranging candles along the intricate drawings, each one with a different purpose. He worked mindlessly, going through the steps almost like a man possessed. Some part of him was frightened, but a bigger part of him was glad his emotions weren’t getting in the way of what needed to be done.

The symbols he drew on his skin almost burned with the power they could channel, the scent of the ink he used awakening something raw and ruthless inside his chest. He’d have to keep a sharp eye on that  _ thing  _ that started eating at him, that desire, that greed, or it would--

“Have you already forgotten what I told you?”

The vial of ink Shigeru had been holding fell into the grass, and he gasped as though he’d been underwater for so long he had forgotten what breathing felt like.

The voice had come from behind him, but Shigeru didn’t dare turn, fearing he’d just imagined it. For goodness’ sake, he couldn’t afford to turn mad before he even started the ritual.

In the end, the yearning overtook him, and Shigeru peeked over his shoulder.

Kenjirou smirked at him, arms crossed over his chest, the way he did when Shigeru gave him a reason to be smug. “I should’ve figured you would do something stupid the second I left you alone.”

Shigeru’s stone grip on his heart came undone.

He had a million things to say, but all that he could manage was, “Then you shouldn’t have left me alone, asshole.”

Kenjirou laughed, and his voice seemed to echo off invisible walls. Shigeru somehow smiled back at him. He couldn’t stop his gaze from devouring what he saw, what he’d missed for so long. 

He was  _ definitely _ going insane.

In the moonlight, Kenjirou seemed to glow, the way floating dust particles did when they touched the sun’s rays. The edges of his silhouette sometimes faded out of sight, and if Shigeru looked hard, he could see the dark forest through him. It was so easy to believe he was actually there, despite himself, despite his knowledge, but the damp grass soaking through Shigeru’s trousers and the stiffness of his skin where he’d painted the runes reminded him of the sickening reality. 

Kenjirou stepped forward, his footsteps not making a single sound, and knelt down next to Shigeru. His eyes held equal amounts of love and anguish. 

“Honestly, Shigeru, I mean this in the kindest way possible,” Kenjirou started, his voice unbearably gentle and sweet, the way he would talk to a child that needed his care, “but what the  _ hell _ are you doing?”

Hearing his voice again, sharing his gaze again, wanting to laugh because of his words again despite their meaning, made Shigeru shed tears of both joy and grief. Soon he was sobbing uncontrollably, hands pressed to his face to stifle the sounds. He could feel Kenjirou’s presence beside him, the brush of cold air against his skin as he sucked the energy he needed out of the air to stay visible. It was comforting, yet it was all he could do not to miss the way Kenjirou’s hand would rub his back to soothe him, the warmth of his touch as Kenjirou embraced him. 

He didn’t need to explain. Kenjirou was smart enough to figure out what exactly he had been preparing for.

“I just figured you could use a second chance at life, is all,” Shigeru said nonchalantly, once he’d calmed down.

Kenjirou’s eyes drifted over the chalk drawings and the candles. He sat down on the grass next to Shigeru, folding his legs beneath him. “With the amount of magic that would take, you’d be transforming into some kind of eldritch horror before my reanimated body could lift a finger.”

Shigeru had known that, realistically. But somehow, his suffering had seemed worth Kenjirou’s life, or at least the easing of his own pain.

“Besides,” Kenjirou added, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. It was such a normal,  _ human  _ gesture -- Shigeru’s heart clenched at the sight of Kenjirou doing such things even when he didn’t have a body to take care of anymore. “It would be less of a second chance at life for me, and more of a second chance at loving me for you.”

Kenjirou’s hand moved towards Shigeru, then stopped, as if he’d wanted to touch Shigeru but realized he couldn’t. Not anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “for causing you such pain.”

Shigeru’s eyes teared up again. “You should know by now that I’d rather have this pain than the hollow ache of never having loved you at all.”

Kenjirou managed a smile. “So you’re not going to go through with this, are you? I can’t stop you if you are, and that concerns me deeply.”

Shigeru snorted. “I won't, if you don’t want me to. It’s your body, after all.”

“That fact is up for debate, but yes, I would agree.”

They shared a laugh, and the weight of several months of grief lifted off of Shigeru’s chest. He was already dreading the moment of its return.

“I just missed you,” Shigeru said feebly, knowing that was no excuse for what he’d been about to do. “So terribly.”

Kenjirou shook his head, smiling to himself. “I can’t believe this.”

Despite everything, Shigeru was offended. “Excuse me?”

“You’re telling me that a necromancer that was  _ literally _ going to raise the dead forgot the way of the spirits?”

Shigeru blinked. “What?” He hadn’t forgotten, not really: he’d just never thought about it. His pain only amplified the monster that lived inside him, so why would he care about the place lost souls traveled to if he could find a way to return one to its rightful place?

Kenjirou caught Shigeru’s gaze with a piercing look. If he had been corporeal, he would have grabbed Shigeru’s chin so he wouldn’t be able to look away.

“I have never left your side, not even for a second. I am honestly offended that you think I did. Are you sure you didn’t notice my company?”

Shigeru shook his head, dumbfounded. 

Kenjirou scoffed. “You are a terrible excuse for a necromancer.”

Shigeru almost,  _ almost _ , rolled his eyes.

He leaned back, angling his face to the moon. “We may be at a distance, except for nights like these, but I am never really gone. I don’t need a resurrected body to keep watching over you.” He let out a soft snort. “Well, there wouldn’t be much of you to watch over, anyway.”

“ _ Hey _ .”

“You know I’m right. Turning to dark magic wouldn’t have been of help for either of us.”

“I know,” Shigeru conceded. “I just wish I could’ve helped you the way you helped all those people. It isn’t fair.”

“Your anger at the world is very endearing,” Kenjirou said. “But putting my soul back into my sick, tired body wouldn’t make things more fair.”

“I  _ know _ , you’ve made that clear by now, thank you very much.”

Kenjirou laughed. His voice seemed to come from several different sources around them. 

“I’m sorry. It just… wasn’t easy, seeing you so lost,” he said. “My place is definitely the easier one to bear, since I was the one who left you behind.”

Shigeru hummed. “I’m never going to forgive you for that, by the way.”

“I never expected you to.” The words sounded painfully sincere. 

The air around them got heavier. Shigeru looked up at the moon. He figured dawn was but a few hours away.

“How long do you think you can stay?” he asked Kenjirou.

“I don’t know. I’m not exactly trying to,” Kenjirou replied. “But I bet I’m done for once the sun rises.”

Shigeru nodded. He glanced over to Kenjirou, watched his bangs flutter in a breeze he couldn’t feel. “Then let’s not waste a single second.”

They talked for as long as the night allowed them to, catching up as though one of them had been away for travel. Shigeru told stories about the shady figures he’d met trying to gather resources for the ritual he would never start. Kenjirou talked about the strange experience of living in another realm, where the rules of time and space were different. They shared jokes and teased each other the way they always had -- Shigeru was certain he hadn’t laughed this much since the appearance of the blight.

Above everything, he just watched Kenjirou. Took in his laugh, his faded amber eyes, his slender, caring hands; but also the way he didn’t crush the grass he was sitting on underneath him, and the way his chest expanded as he inhaled even though he had no need for oxygen. It wasn’t the same as still having him around, but it was close enough.

By the time the eastern corner of the night sky started to light up, Kenjirou was fading in and out of view more often. His voice seemed to come from farther away, as if they were sitting on opposite sides of a glass window. Shigeru had been shivering in his cloak for a while now: the weather  _ had _ been getting colder the past few weeks, but Kenjirou stealing any sliver of warmth left in the air wasn’t helping.

“I can’t keep thi… or much longer,” he just barely caught Kenjirou saying. He seemed to be getting quite worn down, too, as much as spirits could show it.

“Go,” Shigeru told him. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

The corners of Kenjirou’s mouth twitched into a smile. He shifted, and faded out of sight. When he reappeared, he’d gotten to his feet. Shigeru decided to get up as well, only then realizing how stiff his legs had become.

For a short moment, Kenjirou’s silhouette was solid again. He reached out and hovered his hand over Shigeru’s cheek, as if to tenderly stroke his skin. It was not quite a touch, but Shigeru could definitely feel the icy cold of his presence. The gesture almost made him tear up again. 

“We will see each other again soon,” he whispered. And then he disappeared.

Shigeru dragged in a deep breath, feeling like he just woke up from a strange dream. As the first rays of sunlight fought their way through the treetops, he cleaned up as much of the mess he made for the ritual as he could manage. He reburied the casket, and, as a little bit of an afterthought, dug into his unused well of magic to revive the plants beside the grave. They did little to spruce up the spot, but it was all he could do for now. As he shrugged on his rucksack, he vowed to himself to commission the local stonemason to make him a proper gravestone.

Shigeru barely noticed he stayed up all night as he made the trek back to their settlement -- in fact, he’d felt more energetic than he had in months. The sun was just breaching the treeline when he found his way back to the apothecary. While unlocking the door, he spotted the local baker’s apprentice from the corner of his eyes. With a smile, he bid her good morning. 

Just before he closed the front door behind him, he caught the startled expression of the apprentice’s face as she awkwardly waved at him.

Once inside, he let his rucksack fall next to his feet and sighed deeply. He hadn’t been in here much at all since that miserable night. The shards of glass still littered the floor, and a light layer of dust covered every single surface.

Since he didn’t have anything better to do, he kicked his rucksack in the corner, opened the windows, grabbed the broom and dustpan from behind the counter, and started cleaning. 

The gloomy atmosphere that had built up in the building seemed to escape it along with the glass and the dust. As Shigeru tidied up, a few concerned neighbors dropped by, asking about his well-being. A day ago, Shigeru would’ve brushed them off and told them to leave, but, remembering how Kenjirou had always greeted his patrons, now he welcomed them in and brewed them some tea. As he wandered around the room, he asked them about their families and chatted about other trivial topics. More people dropped by, offering supplies like herbs from their garden or replacement jars and wooden boxes, and Shigeru accepted them gratefully. 

By the end of the day, a small group of people had gathered in the cleaned-up apothecary. An apprentice of the local woodworker, a fair young man with stormy grey eyes and short, curly hair, brought in a giant, deconstructable oak table, while another boy with the sides of his head shaved bare carried in chairs borrowed from a tavern a few blocks away; the rowdy owner of said tavern took some ale with him to be shared among them, and a friend of his, a quiet, stocky fellow with short silver hair, followed him in with a crate of vegetables. 

Soon an improvised feast was served, and Shigeru spent all evening chatting and laughing with his newfound friends, knowing that Kenjirou would be watching from the shadows, nodding approvingly. He even met a friendly, reserved healer with deep brown hair that had apparently taken on the care of the patients Kenjirou left behind -- he didn’t have much affinity with magic, but he was willing to teach Shigeru a thing or two so he could keep the apothecary going. They shared countless stories of joy and of grief, and Shigeru was eternally grateful that these kind-hearted guys wouldn’t let him carry this burden alone.

The gathering went on well into the night, and the moon hovered high in the sky when the crowd finally left him be, though with the promise that they would return the next day. That night, Shigeru slept into his own bed again for the first time since Kenjirou fell ill, and found himself well-rested once he woke up the following morning. 

Shigeru ran the apothecary as soon as it was ready for business, putting every bit of information he picked up from watching Kenjirou to use. Bit by bit, the chasm in his heart filled up, and he started looking back upon his past with fondness rather than pain swelling in his chest.

One afternoon, he opened up the shop door to a slender cat sleeping in front of the entrance, just out of reach of the icy rain that washed over the streets. Once it noticed Shigeru, it got to its feet, stretched leisurely, and trotted into the shop as if it owned the place. Finding a spot next to the fireplace that warmed up the room, it plopped down and started grooming itself. Shigeru just chuckled to himself and closed the door.

Now that he paid attention to it, he saw Kenjirou everywhere. He was in the small sprout of weeds that popped up in between the main road’s cobblestones, despite the clouds and the cold; he was in the caring hands of his new healer friend, teaching him how to bandage a wound; he was in his playful cat companion, with its ginger fur and big amber eyes, sweeping at his hands when he was doing research, leafing through Kenjirou’s old books, and sleeping at his feet every night without fail.

But nothing beat his excitement for the days when the moon turned full, when he descended to the cellar as soon as the sun had set and lit every single candle he could find. When, after he’d drawn a circle of runes and sung an eerie incantation, he found Kenjirou sitting on the table where he’d first helped the miner with frostbite, smiling at him expectantly, eyes flickering softly in the candlelight. 

“About time you summoned me here,” he said teasingly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all similarities with the current pand*mic are completely coincidental
> 
> i came up with this idea like 2 halloweens ago, hence the spooky themes, but i didn't have the skill or inspiration to bring the idea to fruition until a few weeks ago. horribly mistimed, really, but what do you expect from creative brains. also can you believe past me predicted **[[[manga spoilers ahead!! skip to the next paragraph!!]]]** shirabu would turn out to be a med student post timeskip like. not to toot my own horn but i knEW IT ALL ALONG. he just has healer vibes your honor
> 
> this was the first time i wrote the pov character on a first name basis (i.e. "Shigeru smiled" instead of "Yahaba smiled") and honestly it works like a charm for me, i don't think i can go back to my old ways now, haha. i stuck to the former a long while because of habit and accessibility (i remember reading fic in my early fandom days with this format and being confused for a bit because who the heck is this "keiji" you speak of), but i think this suits my writing way better.
> 
> ANYWAY IM RAMBLING SO *YOUTUBER VOICE* THANKS FOR READING PLS LEAVE A KUDOS IF YOU LIKED IT AND A COMMENT IF YOU HAVE THE BRAIN CELLS TO FORM WORDS FOLLOW ME ON TUMBLR @SHITABUKENJIROU OR ON TWITTER @NOX_ET_STELLAE IF YOU WANNA SCREAM WITH ME K THANKS BYE ILY


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